Critical Eye
by Daria234
Summary: Pre-series.  While Peter is chasing Neal, Neal finds the surveillance photos that Peter has taken. Neal offers Peter a helpful critique of his technique. Slashy, with voyeurism and adult acts. Non-accurate portrayal of warrant law.


Peter's phone rang as he was sitting down at his hotel desk, which was cluttered with mail to catch up on, a plate from room service with a steak sandwich and fries, and, of course, files on Neal Caffrey, the (supposedly) uncatchable man.

"Burke," he said into his hotel phone.

"Peter," Neal's voice said slowly, drawing out the name.

"Caffrey. How are you?" he said casually as he used his cell to send a message to Jones.

"Did you get them?"

"Get what?"

"Just as I said, Peter. No eye for detail. Yellow envelope. Return address is the Guggenheim."

Peter immediately found the envelope in the pile and opened to find the surveillance photos of Neal that Peter had taken of Neal the previous week - the ones that the team had lost (along with the negatives), and had experienced Peter's not-too-shy anger about it. They were the first surveillance photos of Neal where his face wasn't half obscured by a hat or sunglasses, and they were necessary proof that the man checked into the hotel as "Ned Hanson" was actually their man. In other words, no pictures, no arrest warrant - according to the judge who was sick of being woken up at 3 in the morning to Agent Peter Burke wanting another special favor for expediting the Neal Caffrey case. Peter grimaced as he realized that he should have - but didn't - immediately suspect Neal of sneaking into an FBI agent's hotel room to take the photographs. At least this was something he might be able to use against Neal; the kid would take a stupid risk and get way too close to them if he wanted to make a point.

He lied, "I can't find them. Give me a minute to look through my stuff," and examined the photos of Neal, and all the post-it notes covered in Neal's scribbles that covered them.

"Peter, pretend not to find them as long as you want, I'm still hanging up before you can have the call traced."

Peter sighed. Even if Jones got the message at once, it wouldn't matter.

"Caffrey, these are surveillance photos. They're not supposed to be artistic." Peter continued to read Neal's notes, each of them critiquing the field depth, the lighting, or the composition of Peter's photographs of him.

"You should hold yourself to a higher standard, Peter. I for one expected much more of you."

"Give me one good reason I should try to make surveillance portray you in a flattering light," Peter said, trying to keep Neal on longer.

"It doesn't have to be flattering. But it does have to be interesting. And frankly, Peter, these photos are uninspired. They're totally flat. Dreary, even."

"Sorry they didn't move you."

"You should be. Here I thought you were chasing me with a passion, and all I get is this."

"You're just mad I found out yet another of your aliases."

"Personas. I like to think of them as personas, Peter."

Peter glanced at the clock. "Personae. And the pictures I took were pretty good, I thought. Better than you could do with the same set of constraints," he said, and he could practically hear Neal smile through the phone.

"A gauntlet. I'm impressed, Peter. I accept."

"Neal-"

All he heard was the dial tone then.

- -

A few weeks later, the team wasn't happy. Largely because Peter wasn't happy, which was largely because they had looked around Miami for Caffrey for days, and not only did they not get him, they couldn't even find proof that Caffrey was in the city at all. This was the kind of mistake that made people wonder if Peter should be let to stay on the case, and well, nobody in the office was in a cheery mood.

Peter again held in a groan as he looked at the inbox stack. He worked his way through, bottom up, until he found a yellow envelope with Neal Caffrey's handwriting on it.

Postmarked in Miami.

He opened it and was about to call all his agents in to look for hints that could help them. But then he saw the photos.

Neal's photographs of him.

He wasn't surprised that Neal took the challenge. Peter wanted that, wanted Neal to risk getting caught just to show off his skill. But he thought that Neal would photograph them on the job. Maybe get a few shots of his team looking pissed off as they missed getting Caffrey yet again. Something mocking, Peter would have expected.

Not this. It was Peter in his Miami hotel room. The room was in a high-rise hotel, so high up that Peter had left the curtains open to get as much of that Florida sun as he could before going back to a NY January. The photographs were black and white, and were... absurdly good, considering that they were taken long distance through a window.

The first was Peter walking into his room, yanking off his tie. He looked tired but also a bit... rugged. But also sophisticated. Almost like a rougher version of one of those old Rat Pack types. There's no reason that a photo of him loosening the knot on a tie should make him seem any different than he usually did. But there was something about the way Neal took the shot. Maybe El would know what technical details of light and angle made a person in a photograph seem this way or that way, but Peter didn't.

The next was Peter leaning back in his desk chair, arms folded. Probably thinking about how to catch Neal. There was a motion to Peter in this photo, though he was sitting still - it looked like he might leap out of the chair at any minute with some brilliant idea. Even though Peter remembered sitting there, remembered that the most stunning insight he had that night was remembering the mini-bar had beer in it. But something about the picture made him look improbably profound.

The next was Peter with a towel around his waist, coming out from the shower. One hand was holding the small towel in place, and his head was bent downward, making his jaw seem impossibly square. Something about the lighting made his body seem broad and well-muscled, and for a moment Peter thought that maybe Neal had altered it, had slipped in some fashion photograph of a male model half Peter's age into the envelope. But a closer look revealed that it was nothing but how Neal took the picture that made him look so... not like him.

The next was a shot of Peter's back, head turned slightly as he sipped a bottle. The motion made him seem strong, the way Neal zoomed so that his body's geometry shoved everything else out of the frame made Peter seem towering and large and more angular than he was. He looked like some kind of warrior, some kind of dangerous man who took what he wanted.

Suddenly, Peter felt a wave of nervousness. He remembered this night. He remembered that he didn't feel the need to bother getting dressed, and he remembered what he did after he had a couple of beers, lying on the plush hotel bed, stroking himself as he imagined being less alone than he actually was. Peter slowly turned to the next photograph, expecting the worst.

And there it was. Except it wasn't. There was no picture of Peter's hands on his erect dick, no photographic evidence of Peter coming onto his own stomach. Just a close up of Peter's face, eyes closed, mouth just slightly agape. Face only a little contorted, as if the photograph were taking before the moment of ecstasy. And he must have done something to the shutter speed, because this picture was blurred, as if Neal had captured something in motion. It didn't look like the face of a man pleasuring himself, or at least it wouldn't to someone who didn't realize that's exactly what it was. It looked like he was just on the edge of falling into sleep, or maybe that he was somehow falling back with his eyes closed; it was ambiguous, and evocative, but it wasn't anything Peter would  
>be afraid to show someone.<p>

And then the last picture. Peter with tousled hair, rubbing his eyes as he sat up first thing the next morning. Neal watched him that whole night, Peter realized, and made a note to send Neal's description to nearby high-rises. Peter looked at the photo of himself, looking all tired and mussed, and he realized this was exactly how he looked in the mirror on those mornings when El would kiss him on the forehead and say, "Aww, you look adorable." But the photo made him look less old and cranky and somehow more... sweet and boyish. And somehow Neal must have caught Peter looking out his window to glimpse the view, because Peter almost seemed to be looking directly into the camera. Neal made him look... almost... seductive.

For a moment Peter wondered about Neal. About why. Yes, it was Neal showing off, both his ability to take pictures and his ability to see without being seen. And yes, it was a taunt. But Peter wondered what could possibly inspire Neal to make his portraits of Peter so... generous. As if Neal had taken these pictures with great care.

It disconcerted Peter a little. But he wasn't about to let a few unanswered questions ruin the game for him. He took out a large post-it, stuck it on the last photo (just in case these pictures went missing too), and wrote "This picture fails to convey the underlying annoyance of the subject. The photographer should get closer next time."


End file.
